


Stay

by lemonadesangria (sleapea)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Bottom Lance (Voltron), Canon Universe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Gay Keith (Voltron), Gay Sex, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Or is that just me, POV Alternating, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Battle Sex, Tender Sex, Tenderness, Top Keith (Voltron), a dash of angst for flavour, established klance, r u honry? do u have a lot of feelings? then this is for u-
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-11 23:34:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20554514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleapea/pseuds/lemonadesangria
Summary: Lance closes the short distance between them, lets out a contented sigh as he meets the soft skin of Keith’s lips. Keith slides his hand to cradle the back of Lance’s neck, tilts his head back just enough to deepen the kiss, to slide his tongue into Lance’s waiting mouth. Keith kisses him like he’s hungry, like he’s been travelling the desert and Lance is the first water he’s seen in months.And Lance lets him drink, and drink, and drink.-- --- --After a hard battle, Lance is extra sensitive. They love each other. So much. I’m sobbing. Softest smut you ever READ. Maybe probably most likely a little bit angsty (I’m sorry but also I’m not). Listen I have one kink and it’s calledtrue love





	1. Lance

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve never written porn before pls be nice to me (let it be known…… this piece is next level self indulgence hahahaha)

Lance sits on Keith’s lap, legs straddling his waist, arms wound loosely around his shoulders as they relax together in comfortable silence. They’re in the common room, lounging on one of the long, slender couches situated around the middle of the room.

It’s late, probably around 2am, Lance guesses. He doesn’t actually know. What he _ does _ know is that they should both probably head back to their rooms, but… it’s just… Lance _ can’t_. He can’t bring himself to move, not when he has Keith pressed so close, body warm and pliant below him. Not when it’s so quiet that he can hear Keith’s heartbeat, can concentrate on the steady rise and fall of his chest as he steadily breathes in, breathes out. Not when all he can smell are cloves and soap and _ Keith _ and it’s exactly what he needs to convince himself that Keith is okay and that Keith is here and, _ God, _Lance needs this. 

From where he lay, Lance can see the beginnings of new bruises blooming blue and purple at Keith’s collar, up his neck. Their armour is sturdy, but the hits still leave their marks. It reminds him of the bruises he knows are spread along Keith’s chest, his shoulders, his back. When Lance saw them last, it was when Keith had peeled off his armour in the med bay, and they’d been lighter then. Newer. Lance wonders how dark they must be by now. 

He also thinks about the bandage he knows is wound tight around Keith’s calf— after all, he’s the one who put it there. 

It was a single shot from a Galran sniper rifle. Lance saw the sentry just in time, shouting at Keith to _ run _ as he quickly trained his weapon on the soldier about 40 ft above him. The soldier who had their sights set on Keith, gun raised and at the ready. Lance can still vividly remember the panic that shot through him at the sight— how it made his eyes burn and his heart sink and all the muscles in his body pull whipcord tight. Everything seemed to zero in and go quiet as he pulled the trigger, the sound of his gunfire drowning in the battle around them. But Lance knew he hit his mark. He always did. 

True to his expectations, the gunman fell. However, so did Keith. Amidst the chaos of war and raining gunfire, Lance watched as Keith fell to his knees, and for one, agonizing moment, Lance thought that he was too late. 

Keith supposes he’s lucky that Lance noticed in time to divert the sniper’s shot. He’d told him so as Lance tended his wound, as he applied a strange Altean salve to his skin that Lance knew stung and scarred like a bitch but, he’d be damned if it didn’t _ work_. Keith didn’t make a sound, but Lance didn’t miss the way he tensed above him, the way his breath stuttered to a halt. In the silent room, Lance could hear the slight tremble in his voice as he exhaled quiet, so quiet, but Lance _ knew_. And he couldn’t help but suppose… Keith wouldn’t be in any pain at all if he’d only noticed sooner. 

Lance watches as the bruises lining Keith’s neck slowly darken, breathes out a discontented sigh. He hates seeing the evidence of war mark Keith’s skin, each one a reminder of past shots meant to hurt, aimed to kill. Lance slides one arm down from the warmth of Keith’s shoulders to let it rest against his chest, lifts his hand to ghost at the skin of Keith’s neck until goosebumps line his path.

_ He’s let himself get too comfortable, too complacent. Too reliant on their continued success as Voltron. _

Keith doesn’t stir, so Lance continues his ministrations. His fingers weave their way through the silky ends of Keith’s hair while his thumb presses against his neck, swipes smooth up his skin. When his thumb lands over a bruise, Lance stops.

_ He should be the only one able to mark Keith’s skin like this. _

Lance presses his thumb into the purple skin, applying pressure slowly. He continues until Keith draws in a sharp breath— at which point he stills, lifts his thumb, and replaces it with his mouth. The press of his lips is slow, gentle, and it has Keith letting out a soft, shaky breath. Lance pulls back just enough to exhale hot and shallow against Keith’s neck until the skin flushes, warm with the attention, and Keith shivers beneath him. He smiles at the reaction, hums a pleased little tune as he takes to trailing soft kisses up his pale skin. He travels from bruise to bruise, dragging his lips across smooth skin, until he’s visited each one in succession. 

Still, at the very last mark, he lingers. It’s a particularly nasty one, dark purple and situated right against the column of his throat. Lance takes to lightly sucking at the dark skin there, and each time Keith doesn’t protest, he sucks just a little bit harder. It isn’t long before Keith’s breathing stutters, quickens, and his hands shift to grip Lance’s hips. Lance laughs low, nips playfully at the skin, and Keith grunts. 

“_Lance_,” he groans, and Lance sits up. For the first time since they’d settled against each other that evening, he takes in Keith’s face. His cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, hair mused and messy, black pupils blown wide, and Lance _ wants_. 

“What are you doing?” Keith’s voice is low, hoarse from an afternoon spent shouting in battle. Lance _ knows _ this, so the rough sound of it shouldn’t— it really, _ really _ shouldn’t— travel straight down his chest like a shot of burning liquor. The feeling settles low and hot in his belly, sends a pleasant shiver up his spine. It has him lifting a hand to run through Keith’s hair, shimmying in his lap until they’re pressed tightly together. 

“Nothing,” he whispers, leaning in closer to Keith’s face. “I just…” He stops, words he hasn’t yet formed sticking in his throat. He just… _ what _? 

He wants Keith closer, and he wants to keep him safe. He wants to blur the lines between where he ends and where Keith begins so that he can somehow convince himself that Keith will _ stay_. But... he doesn’t know how to tell him that. So, instead, he rolls his hips slow and intentional, biting his lower lip to keep himself quiet as Keith gasps, grips his hips like a vice. 

“Please?” Lance whispers, and Keith must pick up on the edge in his voice because he instantly stills. Fixes his dark eyes onto him, lifts a hand to cup at his cheek. He simply studies him for a moment, brows furrowed as he strokes his thumb up and down smooth skin. Lance leans into the touch. 

“Lance,” he breathes, low and questioning. Lance answers by leaning in closer to Keith’s face, flitting up his lashes to look him in the eyes in the way he _ knows _ drives Keith crazy. He isn’t playing fair, and he’s sure Keith knows it, too. Still, Keith’s breath wavers at the sight. “Lance…” he repeats, so softly Lance almost misses it. 

Lance closes the short distance between them, lets out a contented sigh as he meets the soft skin of Keith’s lips. Keith slides his hand to cradle the back of Lance’s neck, tilts his head back just enough to deepen the kiss, to slide his tongue into Lance’s waiting mouth. Keith kisses him like he’s hungry, like he’s been travelling the desert and Lance is the first water he’s seen in months. 

And Lance lets him drink, and drink, and drink. 

Until he’s writhing in his lap, gasping, Keith with his mouth working against his neck, warm hands sliding up his shirt and pinching the sensitive skin of his nipples. Lance’s senses are both put at ease and wound up by the proximity. Keith is pressed so _ close_— his breath is hot as he breathes against Lance’s neck, his hands smooth and steady against his chest, the scent of him intoxicating as it fills his lungs, clouds his senses— it’s too much, _ too much _ , but at the same time, it _ isn’t enough_. In one, smooth motion, Keith rucks up his shirt and begins trailing his lips down, down, until he’s lathing his tongue over one of Lance’s nipples, taking it into the wet heat of his mouth, and sucking. Lance arches into it, bites his fist to suppress the moan that tries to slip from his throat. 

“You’re really sensitive today,” Keith chuckles against his skin, eyes shifting up to look up at him. He squeezes the sides of his chest, holding Lance steady as he maintains eye contact and sucks at the skin once more. When Lance stifles himself behind his fist again, Keith draws back. 

“Don’t,” he tuts, gently taking Lance’s hand in his and drawing it away from his mouth. He rubs his thumb over the bite marks along Lance’s knuckles, places Lances hand to rest against his shoulder. “I want to hear you.” Keith slides his hands down Lance’s sides, grips at his waist, and grinds his hips with purpose. Sparks of pleasure dot Lance’s vision and he digs his nails into Keith’s shoulder as they both moan in tandem. 

“Lance, do you want to_— _” Keith starts, slightly breathless.

“_Yes,_” Lance cuts him off. 

“Okay,” Keith whispers, laughing low. 

Unable to stop himself, Lance reaches forward, brushing a thumb against the flush dusting the apple of Keith’s cheek. He leans closer and presses their lips together, swallows the groan that rumbles deep from Keith’s chest. 

When he feels Keith reach between them and start undoing his sweats, he sighs against his mouth in approval. Keith’s fingers are quick as they undo the ties, and Lance nips at Keith’s bottom lip in reward. A little harder than usual, it seems— when he swipes his tongue over the soft skin again, he can taste the familiar, copper tang of blood. Keith doesn’t seem to mind, rather, the opposite_— _ he immediately grants Lance access to his mouth, busy hands stilling as he gets carried away by Lance’s attention. Keith breaks them apart with a wet _ pop_, pulls back with just enough room to whisper against Lance’s lips. 

“We should go back to my room, I have lube and_— _” 

“_No!_” Lance pulls away with urgency, flinching at the loud crack of his own voice as it rings through the silent room. Desperation bubbles in his chest, up his throat, and spills from his mouth. He doesn’t know why the thought makes him panic, but it _does_, it does, it does, and_—_ _“I don’t want to wait,_” he says, almost without his volition. He tries to make himself sound assertive, but his voice cracks and splinters like ice. 

“Lance…” Keith says slowly, quietly. Lance knows that tone, the reluctance in Keith’s voice almost palpable. 

“Keith, _ please_. I want you right here,” Lance isn’t usually one to beg, but once he opens his mouth to start, he finds that he can’t stop. “Please, Keith_—_” 

“Okay, love, hush,” Keith quiets him by pressing a warm palm to his cheek, soothes him with soft swipes of his thumb up and down his blushed skin. His brows are creased in concern, but the hesitation has faded. “But... I’m going to take my time, then.” Lance doesn’t answer, simply hums, nuzzling into Keith’s touch with a soft sigh of relief. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers, leans forward to press a chaste kiss to Lance’s forehead before moving his hand, trailing his fingers until two rest at the seam of Lance’s lips. “Open,” he says calmly. Lance obliges without hesitation. Keith smiles, slides those two fingers against his tongue and into the hot heat of his mouth. 

“Suck,” it’s not a question. Lance closes his eyes slowly, wraps his lips around the thick length of Keith’s fingers before laving them with his tongue, sucking just like he was told. He gently grabs ahold of Keith’s wrist, eyelashes fluttering as he draws Keith’s hand back, Keith’s fingers sliding out from between his lips, and then sucks them back in. Keith groans, and a rush of warmth spreads through Lance at the approving sound. 

“That’s it,” Keith practically purrs, voice low and throaty. Lance shivers, begins to rut against Keith with slow rolls of his hips. Keith’s other hand, still at his waist, grips hard enough to bruise as Lance lets the saliva collect in his mouth, runs the flat of his tongue under his fingers and sucks them further into his mouth. 

Keith rewards him by undoing the remainder of his sweats, by hooking his thumb over the fabric of both his pants and boxers and lowering them. The loose fabric gives easily, allows Keith to slide his hand against the hot skin of Lance’s hip until he’s got a palm squeezing one of his cheeks. He takes his time, kneading the flesh to his heart’s content, teasing his fingers over his cleft but never pressing any further. Lance groans in protest, sound muffled by Keith’s fingers. “You’re so impatient,” Keith tuts softly, but stills his ministrations nonetheless as he shifts his hand across Lance’s waist to pull the front of his boxers further down. Slowly, so slowly, he reveals Lance in his entirety, his erection smacking lightly against the taut skin of his belly as the fabric gets caught on his tip and releases. Lance shivers as the cool air hits him, at the feeling of being fully exposed. Keith stares at him unabashedly, hungrily taking him in_— _ he smiles at how hard Lance already is, how pretty his cockhead looks, all shiny and rosy red, already slick with precome. 

“So pretty…” Keith whispers, rolling his thumb over his slit, swirling the slick around his tip causing Lance to moan, choke on the fingers still shoved in his mouth. Keith’s attention snaps back up to him instantly. The way Keith looks at him… with pupils blown so wide they swallow the violet of his eyes, with a gaze so full of reverence and desire it makes Lance feel like he’s burning from the inside out.

“Open,” Keith grits, and it sounds reluctant. Regardless, Lance does exactly as he’s told, opening wide as Keith takes back his fingers. For a moment, they stay connected by a thin trail of his own spit, and Lance wants to find it gross but he doesn’t, _he_ _doesn’t_.

Keith shifts his attention back down, slides both hands into Lance’s boxers on either side of him. He uses his new hold to shimmy Lance’s pants and boxers further down his thighs, uses the new space to squeeze both of his cheeks for good measure before spreading them. When Lance feels a wet finger brush against his hole for the first time, he stifles his moan by winding his fingers through Keith’s hair and pulling him into a kiss. Keith silences him easily, licks into his mouth rough and messy and Lance’s head spins.

True to habit, Keith continues to waste no time undoing Lance. He teases him a little with a few lazy, wet swirls against his rim, pushes against the soft pucker again and again but doesn’t go in. Lance pants, and Keith takes to lazily kissing his neck. When he finally presses the tip of his finger into him, he bites down on the tender flesh of Lance’s neck at the same time. Lance’s entire body shivers as some more precome weeps from his tip and dribbles down his shaft, and Keith looks about ready to eat him alive. 

Keith’s fingers pull back from his hole and Lance almost whines, but then Keith’s dragging his hand until it’s between them. “So pretty…” he breathes again, and Lance doesn’t even know if he’s conscious of it. Either way, Lance shudders, helpless to the low rumble of Keith’s voice against his skin. Keith takes Lance in his hand then, gives him a few quick strokes, and Lance arches into it with a sigh. As more slick leaks from his tip, Keith hums. “That’s it, baby,” he cooes, gives him a few more quick pumps before he gathers the liquid on his thumb, wastes no time reaching back and slathering it against his hole. 

Lance doesn’t know how long Keith spends opening him up, taking him apart. All he can concentrate on is the feeling as his hold on himself dissolves and his head lolls against Keith’s shoulder. He lifts a trembling hand to grip the fabric of Keith’s shirt like he’s holding on for dear life, and Keith eats it up. 

“Please, ah_—_ _Keith_,” he pants against his chest, squirms in his lap. Slowly, he starts rocking his ass back in time with Keith’s fingers, and the heat curls so deliciously in his belly that he starts babbling, an endless string of _oh,_ _please, please, please_s and one whiny moan of Keith’s name that has Keith stilling his fingers completely and gripping Lance’s hip to keep him still. 

“_Keith—_” Lance rasps, pleads, lifts his head to meet his eyes. Before Lance has a chance to protest, Keith nuzzles his nose against his cheek, presses a chaste kiss there. 

“Shh,” he breathes, long and drawn, and it’s so soothing that Lance relaxes. “You ready?” Keith slides out his fingers, and the emptiness it leaves behind has Lance tensing again in his hold. 

“Mhm,” he hums, willing himself to calm. He returns Keith’s affection by lazily beginning to trail kisses along Keith’s jaw, up and up until he’s kissing just under his ear, making his way slowly down his neck. Keith shifts beneath him, and in his haze, it’s not until Keith is spitting into the palm of his hand once, twice for good measure, that Lance clues in. Shakily, he lifts himself using the knees he has propped on either side of Keith’s lap. Keith strokes himself a few times, moans at how Lance is sitting up for him, helping him lineup so nicely. He grips at Lance’s hips and then he’s pressing into him nice and slow, and suddenly, Lance feels so full. He sucks in a breath, tries to hold back his voice but it escapes him, comes out a hiccupy cross between a sob and a moan. He wonders how Keith’s able to do this, to unravel him so fully and completely that there’s nothing left but a moaning, panting mess. He’s putty in Keith’s hands, and that scares him, because he doesn’t know what he’d do without him anymore.

He feels so full, so full. So full that there’s no room for anything else. Like a full glass, there is nothing left for him to do but rid himself of the excess, let it pour over the edges. He’s powerless to stop the tears from pin pricking his vision, and when Keith presses in to the hilt, pulls him down until he’s fully seated on his cock, they overflow and spill down his cheeks. 


	2. Keith

Little does Lance know, Keith can’t deny him anything. 

Keith usually loves it when Lance is extra sensitive, extra noisy. He loves taking him apart piece by piece, winding him up and up and up until he splinters in his arms. The noises he makes, the way he loses himself, collapses into him… he’s beautiful, always so beautiful, and Keith’s weak for it, for him. But today… Lance is a little different. A little more sensitive than usual, a little more needy, a touch too desperate. It’s driving him insane, the way he’s moaning in his ear, panting against his neck, begging for him in the middle of the common room like they weren't here with the entire team just a few hours prior. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him, but he’s also powerless to refuse him. 

That’s how he finds himself slowly slipping into his boyfriend, guiding Lance's hips down with a bruising grip_— _ but it’s all he can do to keep himself from thrusting up into the warm, wet heat of him. Even without lube, Lance takes him so well, grips at his t-shirt so hard that Keith can feel the scrape of his nails against his chest. Keith bottoms out with a quiet moan, eyes squeezed shut. Taking a moment to gain his bearings, he exhales slowly, starts rubbing light, soothing circles against Lance’s hips with his thumbs. Immediately, Lance starts to squirm. 

“Lance... stop,” he grits, quiet and breathless. Lance ignores him completely, choosing instead to start rolling his hips in these small, practiced circles that have Keith’s mouth falling open. For a second, he’s so lost in the feeling of being inside Lance, how tight and wet and _ good _ he feels, that he forgets the hands he has resting against his hips. 

His grip tightens, holding him still, and Lance whines in protest. Keith doesn’t budge. “Slow down,” he says quietly. “You should take a second to_—_” 

Lance instantly draws back, whips his head up until he's looking at him. “No. Don’t stop,” he pleads, but Keith hardly registers it because...

“Lance… you’re crying,” he whispers. He lifts his hand so that he can rest it tentatively along Lance’s jawline, so that he can brush his thumb softly across Lance’s cheek and wipe away the tear tracks. Lance freezes, blue eyes widening like a deer caught in the headlights. He blinks at him dumbly once, twice, before coming back into himself with a shaky inhale and a flush Keith can feel beneath his thumb. Lance averts his eyes. 

“I_—_” Lance tries to speak, but it comes out a watery hiccup as he’s quickly overwhelmed. More tears start spilling down his cheeks, and Keith’s heart aches. 

“Did I hurt you?” Keith whispers. Although his chest is painfully tight, he waits with bated breath. _ If he hurt Lance... he doesn’t know what he’d do— _

“_No!_” Lance says immediately, and then a set of warm palms are firmly cupping his cheeks and tilting his head down until he has no choice but to meet Lance’s eyes. They’re red rimmed and watery, yet their brightness still pierces like sunlight cast through deep water. “No, Keith. I’m fine,” he says, and he looks serious. But his voice still shakes, and Keith frowns. 

“Then why are you crying?” 

Lance deflates. The hands at Keith’s cheeks slide away, slide down until they come to rest side by side in the centre of Keith’s chest. Lance takes to staring at them. He doesn’t speak, simply stares, like he’s searching for the right words but they’re just not coming. Instantly filled with the urge to console him, Keith takes both of Lance’s hands in his, squeezes them once. Lance looks up at him, and Keith smiles small. He intends to be encouraging, but Lance’s face crumples, more tears flowing down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Lance says, voice shaky and garbled as he tries to control his breathing. “I just… today…” Keith draws their hands away from his chest, guides them down until they’re resting between them. He rubs the pads of his thumbs along Lance’s knuckles in soft, soothing strokes as Lance’s breathing slows. When Lance speaks, it’s to their hands. “When you fell,” he begins slowly, “For a second, I thought_... _ I thought I missed. I thought that maybe you were...” Lance stops, takes a sharp breath like he’s choked for air. “I thought that maybe I was too late, and_—_”

_ Oh. _

Keith’s eyes widen. 

He knows what this is. 

“And…” Lance repeats, hesitates again, and instantly Keith is hushing him softly, weaving his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck so that he can pull him forward and press a kiss to his forehead. “It’s okay,” he whispers. Softly, so softly. “I know.” 

And he isn’t lying. He knows _ exactly _ how Lance feels. He can still remember the dark, smoky ruin that was the control room after Sendak stormed the castle, how thick and heavy and sour the air was inside. 

Lance deflates in his hold, a small sob escaping his throat as something akin to relief washes over him. “I just want to feel you,” Lance whispers, and Keith crumbles. Carefully, he guides Lance’s hands upwards until they’re resting over his shoulders, takes both of Lance’s hips in hand, and resumes with a slow thrust of his hips. Searching for purchase, Lance’s hands immediately go to his hair. 

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he whispers, right by Lance’s ear. Lance nods, goosebumps spreading up his neck, which has Keith smiling, quickening his pace. Absently, one of Keith’s hands strays from Lance’s hip, travels to his back. He runs the tips of his fingers under the hem of Lance’s shirt, traces up smooth skin until he reaches the raised, uneven texture of his scar. He explores the large, starburst shape of it with his fingers, follows the length of it up the ridges of Lance’s spine. Lance shivers in his hold, the scar tissue sensitive, and Keith draws back.

He can still remember how Lance fell unconscious in his arms, the bloody, torn back of his suit, how pale he looked in the healing pod. 

“It’s okay, Lance,” Keith kisses his neck slowly, whispers the words into his skin like a promise. 

He doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince anymore_— _ Lance or himself. 

“I’m here.” He noses under Lance’s jaw, presses his lips gently against his stuttering pulse point. “I’m right here.” 

Maybe... he’s trying to convince them both.

He quickens his pace, and Lance’s back arches, a hiccuping sob turning into a hiccuping moan as it falls from his lips. It spurs Keith on, has him pushing in harder and deeper until Lance starts to pant against his skin in hot puffs, these sweet, watery little “_ ah, ah, ah’s _” spilling from his lips, moaned right into Keith’s ear. He can feel Lance’s body fluttering and clenching around him, and he’s so warm and wet and soft Keith thinks he might burn up with him. 

As the heat builds, Keith shifts his grip, tilts his hips, and pulls Lance down hard, allowing himself to spear further into him. It causes Lance to keen, to cling to him harder, wind his fingers through his hair and grip just short of painful. Keith picks up his pace, now hardly pulling out before he’s pressing back in again and again and again, hard and fast. The shallow thrusts, the way Keith keeps slamming into his prostate over and over and over, have Lance panting Keith’s name as he clings to him, voice soft and breathy, broken and punctuated by the rhythm of his hips. Lance’s cock bounces feebly between them with each thrust and Keith can’t help but stare at the red, weeping length of it. Can’t help but lick his lips, reach forward and curl his fingers around its base. He twists his wrist and squeezes as he draws his hand up slowly, and then he pauses, waits until Lance’s breath hitches and he clings to him so hard, Keith can feel his nails scrape against the base of his scalp. Only then does he start to pump his fist in earnest.

“AH! H-ha…” Lance squeezes tight around him, a mess of garbled obscenities falling from his lips as Keith strokes him. The room, once silent as they relaxed, is now full of nothing but the crude sound of skin slapping skin and the sweet pitch of Lance’s voice as he gets closer and closer to his release. “K-Keith,” he stutters, buries his face against Keith’s neck. “I’m… _ mmm _…” 

He’s close. And thank God, because so is Keith. But he’s determined to make Lance come first. “Come for me, Lance,” he whispers, trailing his lips up Lance’s neck and letting his words burn into his flushed skin. He worships the skin there, kisses and nips, sucks and licks and bites. Savours how he smells this close, like sweat and warm skin and the sweet Altean soap Allura lets him borrow. He groans, swirls his thumb against Lance’s slick, sensitive tip, teases at his slit and then Lance stiffens, every muscle in his body pulling taut as he comes between them, all over Keith’s chest. Keith fucks him through it, never slows the piston of his hips as he begins to chase his own release. Lance collapses against him, chest heaving, body loose and pliant and fucked out as Keith uses him. Lazily, Lance starts mouthing at the base of Keith’s neck, his collarbones where they peak from the top of his t-shirt. It only takes one low, prodding whisper of Keith’s name against his throat and Keith’s coming, stuffing Lance full, and Lance whines at the feeling, bites at the junction between Keith’s shoulder and neck.

They come down together slowly, Lance slumped against his chest, Keith resting the back of his head against the top of the couch. He traces small patterns over Lance’s back above his shirt, and Lance hums softly against him, snuggles further into his chest. He’s no longer crying, the tears having long dried against his cheeks. Now, he’s warm and relaxed in Keith’s arms, safe and close and _ safe._

“Love you,” Lance whispers. 

He knows that they should head back to their rooms, that they should clean up and call it a night. But, for now, he savours the soft warmth that is his boyfriend, content to just be with him, like this, for a few moments longer. 

“I love you, too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for comin out gang. hope u enjoyed my first foray into the smut world. turns out, im soft as heck. who knew
> 
> pls don't be afraid to comment! I'm like tinkerbell... if I don't get attention I'll die
> 
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**DISCLAIMER:** I am not a health professional. Please do not reference my works in place of a real, sexual education. Thank you! <3
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Click [here](https://sleapea.carrd.co/) to find me elsewhere uwu


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